


Dramatic Achievements In Ignorance

by EllaStorm



Category: Will (TV 2017)
Genre: ALL THE GOOD STUFF, Background Drama, Banter, Foreground Comically Missing The Point, Gratuitous Oscar Wilde References, Modern Era, Multi, Richard And Molly Are Adorable, Richard Is Very Oblivious, Romantic Comedy, Theatre, bordering on crack, puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllaStorm/pseuds/EllaStorm
Summary: Richard Burbage is on top of his game. He’s a brilliant young actor with a bright future ahead of him, honing his abilities in his sister’s university drama group project, and, on top of that, the most handsome man he knows. The fact that the word "zenith" sounds vaguely Buddhist to him, that he can occasionally be a little bit oblivious to stuff going on around him, and that his best friend Molly is consistently exhausted by the things he says and does, is merely a side-effect of greatness. It certainly won’t stop Richard from being awesome. Mostly, at least.i.e.: Richard is an idiot who is in love with Molly and it’s hilarious. Modern!AU.
Relationships: Alice Burbage/William Shakespeare, Background, Christopher Marlowe/William Shakespeare, Richard Burbage/Molly
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Dramatic Achievements In Ignorance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meereswiederkaeuer](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=meereswiederkaeuer).



> This is a Christmas gift to my brilliant, brilliant friend @meereswiederkaeuer.
> 
> After a most spectacularly amusing together-watch of “Will” in two sessions, her prompt for this year’s gift turned out to be a Richard/Molly piece with Oblivious!Richard and ExhaustedButFond!Molly and #AShittonOfBackgroundDrama involving Will, Alice, Southwell and Kit. 
> 
> I had an absolute ball writing this story, and I hope you have a ball reading it, my dear.
> 
> A most wonderful Christmas to you :*
> 
> (Also, yes, they are putting on a stage version of Velvet Goldmine in this piece, because Richard needed to wear a glittery leopard jacket on stage unironically, and there needed to be an anchor for background drama, and I’m not even remotely sorry.)

“God, you look _fantastic._ A diamond in the rough. Powerful. Eccentric. _Comely_.”

“I’m impressed to find that word in your vocabulary, Richard. Now stop staring at your own reflection and turn around so I can fix your _comely_ glitter leopard jacket.”

Richard huffed and spun around to face Molly, whose mouth was quirked in a half-condescending, half-fond smile.

“I have a very big vocabulary, Moll. Just for your information.”

“Mhm,” she made, tampering with the lapels on the, indeed, rather glittery, rather leopard-y piece he was wearing on his otherwise naked upper body. “You do remember the day you called Will out for name-dropping a Buddhist concept in an English history play?”

“He wrote about _zen_ -something! It was a perfectly legitimate question!”

Molly groaned in a long-suffering way. “The word was _zenith_ , you absolute clotpole. How did you even _get_ through your A-levels?!”

Richard grinned and swiftly grabbed her hand that was still busying itself with his jacket, took a step back, bowed and pressed a small kiss to her surprised fingers. “Charm and boldness,” he retorted, warmly; and though Molly rolled her eyes at him he could see a soft shade of red blooming on her cheeks when he let go of her.

“You’re so lucky you’re cute, Richard,” she sighed, dragging him back at the lapels of his jacket to finish her project.

“Rehearsal starts in ten,” Alice’s clipped voice informed them through the door of the dressing room.

Richard’s sister was what one might call the manager of their drama group, though Richard’s definition of her role tended more in the direction of _clipboard tyrant_. At least that was what he never tired of telling her, earning himself many kicks to his shins and elbows between his ribs. The truth of the matter (that Richard had to begrudgingly acknowledge on occasion), was that Alice had everything under control, even when the troupe were teetering on the edge of chaos, and that her text-editing skills were out of this world. He would _never_ tell her that, though. Her ego was big enough as it was.

And lately her mood had been rather sour, to boot.

Richard wondered if that might have something to do with the fact that her proposal to turn Brian Slade, arguably the main character of their brand-new play, into a woman had been completely ignored by Will. He had overheard a few snippets of one of their discussions yesterday, which had gone something like this:

_Alice_ _(agitated)_ : “It’s a bloody sausage-fest, William! How do you expect our Gen-Y-and-Z-audience to care about a bunch of white men?”

 _William_ _(no less agitated)_ : “Jesus, Alice! It’s a spin on a spin of _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ from the Nineties! As much as you hate to admit it, your boy Oscar was very much into dudes, and the Nineties were _terrible_ at inclusivity.”

 _A_ : “ _That_ is the _exact_ attitude that is keeping this country from making any progress whatsoever! _Because it’s canon_ and _Because we’ve always done it this way_ are not valid arguments when it comes to producing a stage play of a cult classic!”

 _W_ : “But we’re far off from that, Alice! Just to remind you: We have definitely-not-white-men Lys and Ash as Arthur Stuart and Jack Fairy, and Emilia as Mandy Slade, who is _neither_ white, _nor_ male. Three of five core actors are _not white men._ But Brian’s character’s identity very much _hinges_ on that! Being a rock star in the 70s _and_ going about it _like_ _a white man_ while struggling with his identity as a bisexual is _literally_ his entire _thing_ ; and shifting him out of that in the first place would shoot the whole story down!”

 _A_ : “That’s _your_ short-sighted opinion!”

 _W_ : “It also happens to be _Kit’s_ opinion.”

 _A_ : “Oh my God, why don’t you just shag _him,_ if you like him so much?”

 _W_ : “Can we _please_ keep this professional, Alice?”

Richard had stopped listening in then, because it had struck him as a rather dull dispute between producers, at least going by Will’s and Alice’s standards. And the subject matter hadn’t concerned him much, anyway, since _his_ role hadn’t even been mentioned. He was playing Curt Wild, after all, the rough-around-the-edges, emotionally torn, routinely shirt- and occasionally pant-less rock star who commanded screaming crowds with a flick of his wrist and whose beautiful words reflected the depths of his fragile artist’s soul. (Those had been Will’s words, at least, when he had pitched Curt to Richard as the role of his life.)

The fact that Curt was going to have sex with not one, but _two guys_ in the play had thrown Richard off a little bit, but he had soon made peace with it, once Molly had assured him that Curt probably also slept with loads of women off-stage, and that she found his character quite sexy, anyway. Well…she hadn’t _said_ it, exactly. But Richard had clearly seen it in her eyes, after Kit and he had had their first stage-test smooch-session.

Speaking of the devil, there he was, Christopher Marlowe in the flesh, entering the tiny dressing room in a sharp, sparkly suit. Richard had to admit to himself, once again, that he _was_ very pretty, even if one wasn’t into guys, or tattoos, or blond hair, or all three of them combined. But there was _something_ about Kit that made personal preferences a bit of a moot point, to Richard’s permanent chagrin.

A gleeful smile spread on Kit’s cheeks, when he spotted Molly and Richard.

“Looking good, darling,” he said in Richard’s direction; and Richard had harshly objected to the pet name at first – before he had learned that Kit called almost _everyone_ ‘darling’. Molly had once said that it was a _Freddie-Mercury-thing_ , and Richard had nodded and wondered if she was talking about the old chubby guy with the weird glasses or the dead guy with the porn-stache. He always got those two mixed up.

“Any of you seen Will, by chance?”, Kit asked, disinterested.

“I think he’s outside,” Molly answered, and finally let go of Richard’s jacket. “Talking to Rob.”

Kit furled his eyebrows. “What is Southwell doing here? He’s not even part of this production.”

Molly shrugged and Kit sighed, looking rather less cheerful than a few seconds ago, before he turned around and rushed out again.

“What’s up with him?” Richard asked, because Kit’s reaction had struck him as a bit weird, since Rob Southwell, theology student and their most faithful audience member, was a perfectly nice and upstanding guy.

Molly grinned. “The green-eyed monster.”

“Green-eyed what?”

That earned him another eyeroll from Molly. “Jesus, Richard. He’s JEALOUS,” she said, as if it were obvious. “I’m going to go now and talk to Alice about Lys’ pants, before rehearsal starts; and you try to…just do whatever you do to prepare for stripping naked on stage.”

Richard wiggled his eyebrows. “Why do you think I need preparation for that? It all comes to me quite naturally.”

Molly blushed ever so slightly. “Then…be natural. Or something.” She cleared her throat. “Right. Later.”

That said, she turned around and went the same way Kit had gone; leaving Richard rather confused as to why Kit would be _jealous_ of Rob, when he was perfectly good-looking himself.

***

“No, no, no,” Will said, getting up from his sitting position and stepping on stage with an air of frustration around him.

The rehearsal had been going on for about half an hour at this point, and Will had interrupted them about twenty times already. Richard sighed and looked towards Alice, who was sitting in one of the chairs right in front of the stage, half-immersed in her clipboard; before Will claimed his attention again.

“This is a _pivotal_ point in the play, Richard. You’re saying one of the most beautiful lines Oscar Wilde has ever written, one of the most poignant confessions of love. You can’t just _shout_ it at him.” He nodded towards Kit who was standing only a few feet away from Richard, looking at Will with a strange expression in his eyes, his glittering suit slightly askew, where Richard had grabbed him by the lapels, and – yes, admittedly – said his line in a rather aggressive way. But Curt Wild was an aggressive character! It wasn’t Richard’s fault that he was written that way!

He said as much to Will, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and Will nodded.

“You’re right, Richard. But remember what I said about his fragile soul? How deep down he’s very empathetic? A true romantic? _That’s_ the side of him that comes forward in this scene with Brian Slade. Curt realises that despite the whole media game they’ve been playing on behest of Jerry Devine, they’ve _actually fallen in love_ with each other.”

“Okay,” Richard said, a little unsure; and Will gave his shoulder an encouraging slap.

“Let me show you what I mean.”

Richard moved back and let Will take over, who stepped closer to Kit, right into his personal space. Kit was smiling at him, mischievously, and they hooked their arms, acting as if they were drinking from imaginary champagne glasses, then tossing them aside in unison. Kit’s eyes flickered down to Will’s mouth, deliberately; and Will spoke Richard’s line in a soft, sensual way, not too quiet to not be heard in the audience, but quiet enough to make it seem rather…intimate:

“ _The world is changed, because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history._ ”

The kiss that followed was tender, then demanding, and Richard had to admit to himself that this was some solid acting.

It was only when he heard the loud clutter of a chair on the floor behind them and Alice screaming “YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” at the very top of her lungs, that Richard suspected something might be up.

***

“I still don’t get it,” he said, massaging his temples, a dull feeling of exhaustion settling over him. He was sitting in the corner of his favourite pub with Molly, brooding over the events of the afternoon. “How can there be so much _drama_ in one place? Why can’t they all just get their shit together and _work on this play_ like professionals? Like us?”

Molly grinned at him apologetically. “It ain’t called drama group for nothing, Richard. They’re actors and writers and musicians. It’s what they _do,_ the lot of them.”

“Hmpf,” Richard made, taking another swig of his Guinness, before a shocking thought occurred to him. “Do you think I’m doing something wrong?”

“Yes,” Molly retorted dryly, before adding. “But do elaborate.”

“No, I mean – _I’m_ an actor! A very, very good actor, in fact! And there is literally…no drama in my life. Sure, I have the occasional bad day, but… there are no unsolvable love-triangles, no screaming, no writing-my-overwhelming-emotions-down at midnight. Am I…” He shuddered. “Am I _boring_ , Moll?”

Molly started laughing, loud and bright and brilliant, and Richard watched her, anxiously; but then her hand was on his hand, squeezing it, and she bowed over the table towards him with softness in her eyes.

“Richard. You’re _really_ oblivious to a shocking number of things that happen around you. And you can be harrowingly narcissistic. But you’re the absolute _opposite_ of boring; and to be honest, that’s one of the things I really like about you.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Molly said, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb, and Richard felt a smile spread on his face.

“Tell me a few more things you like about me?” he tried; and Molly narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t push your luck.”

“See – that’s what I like about _you_ ,” Richard said. “I knew you weren’t going to do me the favour. You keep me humble.”

“That’s overstating my abilities,” Molly retorted with a sigh. “Not even Buddha would be able to do that. Not with all the _zenith_ in the world.” She was still holding Richard’s hand, and the warmth and amusement in her eyes sparked a familiar, fuzzy feeling in Richard’s stomach.

“Thank you, Molly,” he said, on a whim. “For being my…”

He paused.

“Friend?” Molly offered, helpfully; but Richard shook his head.

“I don’t think that quite covers it.”

There was something in her face, then, something that made her smile even brighter, her features even more beautiful. She pulled his hand up and pressed a small kiss to his knuckles, mirroring what Richard had done this afternoon; and there was an infinite kind of space opening up somewhere in Richard’s chest, that he knew belonged to her. That would never, ever stop belonging to her.

And, honestly, even if Richard might have been oblivious to a few things around him, on occasion – he wasn’t oblivious to _this,_ and that…well, that meant he was fine, didn’t it?

Nobody’s perfect, after all.


End file.
